He must have been quite a sight in the classroom.
“Despite everything you have said … do you have any theories on who broke in and stole the plate?”
“Theories?”
At that, Sitwell laughed. Sarah couldn’t imagine what she had asked that was so funny. “My ’theory’ is that it would be someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about Romano-British artefacts!”
Still chuckling, Sitwell turned, walked to the door and left the office.
Grinning, Grace said: “I wish we’d recorded that. Could have been Cherringham’s first viral video.”
Sarah laughed, wondering what his odd visit had meant. Was there something she and Jack were missing?
13. Jerry Clueless
Jack decided that the pub, with an offer of a free pint or two would be the best inducement to get Jerry Pratt to meet him for a chat.
“Thanks for coming,” Jack said.
Jerry nodded, his eyes locked on Ellie pulling a pint of best bitter. Just after lunchtime, and young Jerry seemed mighty thirsty.
Taking the pint, foam spilling over the side, Jerry took a sudsy sip. “No problem, mate. Anything to get that damn treasure back.”
“That’s more the police’s line,” Jack said. “I’m just asking some questions. Helping out, as it were.”
Another big gulp, suds giving way to beer.
“You’re a Yank. Yanks are smart. Smarter than the local lot ’ere. Bleedin’ keystone cops they are. Maybe with you helpin’, we’ll ’ave a better shot at finding them bastards who did this.”
“Maybe.”
Jack thought: Yanks are smarter? Guy must watch too many American cop shows.
“I was thinking it might help to hear your side of the story …”
Jerry cocked an eyebrow, finally looking away from his beloved pint, suddenly wary.
“Yeah. My story? About how we found it?”
Jack shook his head. “No, the night of the break-in.”
Jerry shook his head. “You seen us, haven’t you? Celebrating right here. Even chatted with you. Me and Baz, both right here.”
“I get that. Great celebration.”
Jack looked around the quiet pub. The lunchtime rush was long over and the place was still in anticipation of the early afternoon crowd. “But after that, you went straight home?”
The question stopped Jerry.
Then a small grin.
“Not exactly, mate. Like I said — was a bit of celebration, and we–”
“You and Baz?”
Jerry nodded. “Yeah, we drove over to Boughton. Got ourselves a little …” Jerry lowered his voice, “massage.”
“Really? You and Baz, hmm? That’s not what Baz told me.”
“Too right he didn’t tell you. Poor sod’s got a wife now, doesn’t he? She hears about any goings on like that, and well — don’t have to draw you a picture. Though must admit, he was none too steady once we got there.”
“I can believe that. Looked like he had trouble holding his head up.”
“That’s not all he had trouble keeping up!” Jerry said, laughing loudly.
Jack didn’t know what to believe … Baz’s story of immediately crashing on the couch, or Jerry’s little road trip for some stress relief. All things considered — the latter was more likely. He’d keep quiet though — none of his business, as long as it didn’t impact the case.
Jack knew it would be easy to have the police check that the two of them did go to Boughton. Still, it didn’t rule either of them out.
Jack nursed his beer, but when Jerry’s emptied he gave a wave to Ellie for a refill.
“Thanks. Generous of yer.”
“The next morning, you must have been — really upset when that safe popped open?”
“Upset? Why I’d take whoever did that and–” Jerry caught himself.
Bit of a temper there.
“Understandable. Any thoughts on who could have done it?”
Jerry looked away.
“Dunno. Been told a thing like that is hard to fence.”
“Almost impossible, is what I’ve learned.”
“Right. So can’t imagine any of us would have done it. We had a sure thing–”
He banged his glass down on the bar.
“Money in hand,” he said.
Jack could feel the pain of all the cash vanishing overnight.
“So you think?”
“Must have been that gang the police are talking about. Hitting all the villages around here. Maybe they didn’t even know it was there, won’t know what the hell to do with it. I just know one thing,”
“What’s that, Jerry?”
“Sure screwed up my life, know what I mean?”
Jack nodded, gave the bereft Jerry a smile.
“Think I do,” he said.
Jack feigned looking at his watch.
“Gotta dash — thanks for talking though.”
“Right. Anytime. And hope you find ’em, the ones that did it!”
Just a smile in response since — right now — that seemed pretty unlikely, and Jack sailed out of the Ploughman’s.
14. A Desperate Lady
Tony Standish looked up at the grandfather clock that sat in the front corner of his office, next to two large windows that overlooked the High Street.
“She did say she’d be here at three o’clock sharp.”
Sarah nodded. “Not to worry. I’m way ahead on deadlines for a change. I can wait.”
Standish got up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and looked out.
The estimable Lady Repton had agreed to meet, but insisted it be at her solicitor’s office, Tony Standish Esq — which was fine since Sarah trusted Tony implicitly.
Cherringham felt like a better place with a lawyer like Tony watching her back.
Funny though … she knew so little about his life, and he knew everything about hers, her parents, kids …
He looked down to the street, pulling aside the net curtain.
“Ah, there’s her taxi. No driver, sadly. Those days are over.”
He turned back to Sarah.
“Been a difficult time for her. Cutting back, and all that–”
“I imagine.”
Standish’s receptionist knocked, and then opened the door to his office.
“Mr Standish, Lady Repton is here.”
Tony nodded, keeping his position at the window, and then Lady Repton walked in.
Her cane punctuated every step with a sharp clack on the wood floor until she reached the thick plush Persian carpet, a crimson sea that surrounded Tony’s desk and chairs for clients.
Lady Repton barely shot Sarah a nod as she made a surprisingly quick beeline for one of the chairs.
“Some tea, if you don’t mind, Standish.”
“Absolutely. Sarah?”
“I’m fine, Tony.”
Repton snorted at that. Whether at Sarah’s refusing a perfectly good cup of tea in the afternoon or calling her solicitor ’Tony’, Sarah didn’t know.
Once tea had been brought in, Tony offered to take the lead starting the meeting.
“Lady Repton, as you know Sarah, who is also a client, has been–”
“Oh, do get on with it. I’m not getting any younger, Standish. Let’s cut to — what do the young people, say — the chase.”
Lady Repton took a sip of the tea, both saucer and cup held perfectly, in a way they must have been drilled into young debutantes decades ago.
A century ago!
“Precisely. Sarah?”
Standish turned to Sarah, passing the ball.
Lady Repton kept her eyes locked, looking forward as Sarah began.
“Lady Repton, I have been working with Mr Jack Brennan to see if we can learn anything about the plate that was stolen.”
Repton shook her head in a move that screamed ’now I’ve heard everything’.
“Amateur detectives,” Lady Repton said.
Another shake of her hea
d.
Sarah was tempted to tell this old … woman … that the two of them had had a good degree of success, and Jack was anything but an amateur. But she felt holding her tongue might better serve the cause here.
“I’d like to review with you the events of that morning.”
Now the turret of Lady Repton’s head turned, and with a slight angle adjustment, the lowering of her chin, she addressed and looked at Sarah squarely.
“The plate, worth a fortune, was stolen. Or did you not read your own pithy description of the event in that thing you publish.”
“I know, Lady Repton. But did you notice anything else? Did anyone seem suspicious? Anyone there you think might have wanted to steal the plate?”
At that Lady Repton produced a loud ’ha’. “Maybe that dotty professor. I mean, it was his safe after all.”
“But the police saw signs of the break-in. Other valuable things were stolen.”
“Pish-posh. Right. And I have had it explained to me that the item is impossible to sell. Tremendous value, but if you are not dealing with the British Museum, virtually worthless.”
“I’ve been told that as well.”
And in that moment with Lady Repton’s clear eyes locked on hers, Sarah realised that they both had the same thought.
Everyone is saying that it is impossible to sell. Nobody could buy it.
But was that true?
“Everyone there could have used that money so why steal it?”
Sarah took a deep breath before the next question.
A long pause, as she braced herself.
“And you too?”
Lady Repton had long perfected the art of the long, slow and deeply uncomfortable burn.
“Of course. Of course, I could have used that money.” She looked around the room, avoiding eye contact. “No secret there. No end of things needed for the old estate. Lists a mile long. Hence,” she looked back to Sarah. “I’m not pleased.”
“I’m sure.”
Sarah looked over to Standish who had forced a sheepish smile into place, his eyes seemingly suggesting that this little interview was over.
Sarah leaned forward and extended a hand.
“Thank you, Lady Repton, for coming here. Answering my questions. We will do what we can.”
Lady Repton put her tea, half drunk, on the corner of Tony’s deep mahogany desk.
Then the old battle-axe used the leverage of her cane to rise out of the classic wooden chair.
“I doubt that doing ’what you can’ will mean anything. Still, I suppose I must wish you luck.”
She took Sarah’s hand in a surprisingly firm handshake.
“Now, Standish — a taxi, if you will?”
And like a prehistoric three-legged raptor, not to be underestimated, Lady Repton walked out the door.
15. No Headway
Jack watched carefully from the forward deck of the Grey Goose as Daniel loosened the rope, pulled it back into the little rowing boat and took hold of the oars. Riley the dog sat patiently in the stern, unperturbed as the tiny craft bobbed from side to side, next to the barge.
“Don’t forget now, Daniel — take a good look up and down river.”
Daniel checked like he was crossing the road for the first time.
Which in a sense he is, thought Jack.
“Tell me this gets easier,” said Sarah standing next to Jack, anxiously watching her eleven-year old son row solo for the first time.
“Nope,” said Jack. “I can guarantee you that when Daniel is twenty-one you will still be peering over his shoulder ready to pick him up when he falls. Or at the very least, pick up his rent bill when he phones home to say he’s broke.”
“All clear!” said Daniel.
“Well then … off you go, kid,” said Jack.
Daniel dipped both oars in the water, pulled, and headed away across the river with Riley to the far bank. The water was flat calm and Jack noticed the insects skimming over the surface.
Maybe get the rods out later, catch myself some supper.
“Nearly there, Dan,” called Sarah, a warning tone in her voice.
“He knows what he’s doing,” said Jack.
And sure enough, Jack could see Daniel check his distance from the bank, ship his oars and gently float to a perfect rest up against the little jetty. The boy looped his rope round the post, tied it off then jumped up onto the opposite bank. Riley leaped after him.
“Nice work Daniel,” called Jack. “Give us a shout when you’re ready to come back.”
Daniel gave a big grin and a thumbs-up.
“Come on Riley!” he shouted, and raced off into the meadows. Riley tore after him.
Jack turned to Sarah.
“Kid’s a natural,” he said. “Couldn’t have done it better myself.”
“I seem to remember you use the outboard these days Jack.”
“Gotta watch I don’t put my back out.”
“Hmm. A likely story …”
Jack winked at her then pulled out one of the canvas chairs that leaned against the table and sat down, facing the river. Daniel and Riley were already halfway across the meadows. Jack had a sudden and surprising pang of memory of being that age, his dog at his side, walking through waist-high grass.
Funny how an image like that can ambush you, he thought.
Sarah pulled out another chair and sat next to him.
“So you think there’s nothing more we can do,” she said, not taking her eyes off her son, fast becoming a dot in the distance.
Jack knew it was the case she was talking about.
They’d already spent the morning going round in circles — all the while planning for Jack’s little party in a week’s time. And though that was pretty organised, the investigation was going nowhere fast.
“Short of a surprise confession — nope,” said Jack.
But he could see she still wasn’t going to settle for that.
“I remember you told me once that when you get a breakthrough, it’s often something that you knew already, but you just hadn’t realised the importance.”
“True,” said Jack. “It’s usually some fact or piece of information you’ve kind of … misfiled. You know what I mean?”
“Exactly,” said Sarah. “So maybe you’ve got one of those now?”
Jack considered this.
“Well …”
“Go on.”
“One thing I do not get,” said Jack. “The break-in. They tried the front door, then they smashed the back door. Now from what you told me about this art gang from that crime report — they’re pros. And anyone who can open one of those Canon safes — well they can slip a door lock easy.”
“Plus — would they really smash the glass in and leave it there?”
“Exactly,” said Jack.
Jack watched as a group of swans flew past, just level with the deck of the Grey Goose and landed downstream.
“On the other hand,” he said. “The way Cartwright left the combination out, it might be an amateur who just got lucky.”
“Like Jerry?”
“Not impossible. My money’s on Lady Repton.”
Sarah laughed.
“Can’t be her. You’d have heard her cane tapping from here. What about young Baz?”
“Not on his own — he was too drunk. If local reports are to be believed.”
“Pete the Farmer?”
“Possible — though I’d hate it to be true.”
“Which leaves the professor,” said Sarah.
“And with him, like we said before — where’s the motive?”
“You’re right,” said Sarah. “Everybody says it would be impossible to sell the plate anyway. So whoever stole it might have just thrown it away.”
“Or melted it down.”
“But I wonder if that’s really true?” said Sarah. “What about those people you hear about who have incredible works of art all hidden away? They exist, don’t they? It’s possible to buy these things on t
he black market.”
“True,” said Jack. “In fact, I remember, a year or two back there was a guy in the States bought a T-Rex skull for a small fortune. Texan oil millionaire. Had it installed in his study. Just to look at all on his lonesome.”
“So the Cherringham Plate could still be out there.”
“It could. But you know what? Right now, I don’t think we’re going to find it.”
Across the river, Riley jumped up onto the bank and barked a greeting. Jack could see Daniel, stick in hand, heading back too.
“Not unless we get lucky,” he said with a shrug. But from the determined look on Sarah’s face, he could see she wasn’t going to let it go that easily.
Sarah had just finished editing a blood-curdling scream into the Victorian Hangman Feature on the Penton Prison website when there was a knock at the office door.
She looked over at Grace.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
Grace shook her head and walked over to the door. Pete Butterworth entered quickly. He nodded a hurried greeting to Sarah and went straight to the little window that looked down onto the village square.
Sarah looked at Grace.
“What the …?” she mouthed.
Grace shrugged again.
“Mr Butterworth — is there a problem?” she said, standing up from her chair.
“No, not a problem,” he said, not taking his eyes from the street two storeys below.
Sarah joined him at the window.
“You look worried.”
“Worried? No.”
For a second his eyes flicked away from the street to hers — then he pressed his face to the glass again.
“You see the BMW — by the entrance to the village hall?”
Sarah looked down.
“The blue one — yes?”
“That’s it,” he said. “By the way — you can call me Pete.”
“Nice to see you again, Pete.”
“Hmm. Now don’t take your eyes off the car — all right?”
“Absolutely. But are you going to tell me why?”
She saw Pete look over at Grace.
“Don’t worry. Anything you were going to say to me, you can say in front of Grace.”
He seemed to consider this for a few seconds, then relaxed.
“If you say so.”
Cherringham--Thick as Thieves Page 6
